


Subverted Expectations and Grudging Acceptance of Bravery

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Engagement, Family, Friendship/Love, Late Night Conversations, Marriage Proposal, POV Gilly (ASoIaF), Post-Episode AU: s08e01 Winterfell, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: An AU look at Sam/Gilly at Winterfell before the White Walkers come. Complete.





	Subverted Expectations and Grudging Acceptance of Bravery

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

In Oldtown, Little Sam had developed a love for flowers, and after getting permission (Jon Snow and Sansa Stark had looked at her as if she were absurd), she’s gathered a basket full of leafs from the godswood. They’re not proper flowers, but maybe, he’ll enjoy them. He’s been fussy a lot lately, and other than never doing what Craster and some of her sisters did, she doesn’t know what to do.

Coming near the castle, she pauses when she sees the crippled Stark sitting nearby, and she’s about to turn around to head back to the godswood and see if, maybe, there’s a different way back when she sees there’s a book lying on the ground near him. More than this, he’s intently staring at it, much like Sam would if there was a book he couldn’t reach.

This boy, this man, this whatever he is, he makes her uneasy.

All the same, it’d be cruel to not see if he needs some help.

“Hello,” she greets. Curtseying as best she can with the basket in her arms, she nods to the book. “Would you like me to pick it up for you?”

For a moment, he looks at her with blank eyes. Then, he answers, “Please. Thank you, Lady Gilly.”

Setting the basket down, she says, “Oh, I’m not a lady. I come from the North.” Dusting the book off, she holds it out.

A small smile crosses his face as he takes it. “I’ve seen. If you and your son survive this, will you tell him who his father truly was?”

Pushing down the fear and anger, she quietly says, “Samwell Tarly is his father.”

“My father called himself Aegon Targaryen’s father. Robert Baratheon believed he was the father of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. There continue to be consequences to both.”

The Free Folk do things differently, she’s tempted to say. Sam stole me and my baby. He bedded me. Gave me his virginity. He told me to say Little Sam was from his seed. I’m his, and so is my son.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. His love for you and the boy have made him a great asset to the war.”

Bitter unhappiness makes her stomach feel raw. The words aren’t meant to produce such a feeling, she knows, but-

“If I’ve offended you, I apologise. I often don’t know how others will react to my words anymore.”

“You didn’t offend me.” Unable to stop a sigh, she picks up the basket.

His eyes on her face make her squirm. “You don’t value bravery?”

That’s a very unfair question, is her sour thought.

“Sam’s the bravest man I’ve ever met, and if weren’t for that- you’re right. He wouldn’t be such a big help with this coming war. Little Sam and I wouldn’t be here, free and, hopefully, soon, safe.”

She’s met women who’ve chosen their men, and as much as she loves Sam, sometimes, she wishes she could have been one of them. She knew from the start he was kind, but he was supposed to be much like Craster. She’d follow him, be bedded whenever he wanted it, and he’d let her keep her baby.

If he’d been what she’d expected, then, him having all these ideas about men needing to fight, it wouldn’t be any less annoying, but she could just find another man to take her and her son.

“I remember, when I first woke from my fall, I was devastated. It was my dream to be a knight. To fight for those who needed defending, to win battles and tourneys, and to be as much of a man as my father was. I’m not a man, now.”

“Not being able to fight doesn’t make you less of a man,” she offers.

“That’s not what I meant. All that I can see and my ability to warg, I’m both more and less a man than most others.”

“I think I understand. Sam says you’re one of the most powerful greenseers in history. I’ve heard and read stories about what some of them could do.”

“You prefer the him who reads inside with you and your son to the one who’s preparing to wield a sword against the approaching dead.”

There’s no scorn, anger, or mockery in his words, and she finds herself answering, “Yes.”

Jon Snow’s never liked her, and Lady Sansa only truly cares about what they call the North here, but they’ve let her and her son stay for now. If they and the other girl, Arya Stark, hear what she’s said, it’s unlikely it’ll matter until after the war is over, and if the dead are finally defeated, there are other places she and Little Sam can go.

“I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that avoiding things that hurt him and not fighting makes him bad. Coward, weak, people called my father those things, but I always thought he was right. I’ve always tried to avoid being hurt, and I’ve only ever tried fighting when I had to. I want Sam Tarly to be safe and happy with us, not risking dying and leaving us.”

She can’t help but scoff. “But I also know there are bad people who need to be stopped. My father was one of them. And I know, if people aren’t willing to fight the dead, we’ll all die. It’s just, if everyone would not be cruel, then, there wouldn’t be fighting and wars between men.”

When she’s tried to talk to Sam about this, he went on about how he preferred being brave to being a coward. There was a lot of talk about history, virtue, and the gods thrown in.

Sometimes, she’s afraid he’s going to expect the same things out of Little Sam that his father expected out of him. He sounds like Randyll Tarly on occasion, now.

“Maybe, when this is all over, you’ll have that with them. Could I see the leafs?”

Handing it to him, she says, “Your brother and sister said it was okay to gather them up. They’re for Little Sam to play with outside. If he brings some inside, I’ll clean it.”

He cocks his head. “Your son is nearby.”

Looking around, in the distance, she sees Sam, and to her confused worry, it looks as if he’s walking with Ser Jaime Lannister. Starting towards them, she calls out, “Sam! Little Sam!”

When she gets over, she gasps at the bruising on his face.

Half-hiding behind Ser Jaime’s leg, he mutters, “I’m fine, Mama.”

“No, you’re not.” Leaning over, she gently detangles his hand from Ser Jaime’s before pulling him toward her. “What happened, sweet one?”

“Some older boys were picking on him,” Bran declares.

And did you see this when it was happening, she wonders.

Pushing away the anger, she carefully examines Sam for any other injuries.

“Mama, am I Papa’s bastard son?”

There’s suddenly a sinking feeling in her stomach, but trying to smile, she looks in his eyes.

(Blue like Craster’s, but despite this, they often remind her of Sam’s kind, curious ones.)

“Well, your papa doesn’t like the word ‘bastard’, but yes. Papa met Mama when men from the Wall visited your grandfather’s keep. Remember, we’ve told you this? He was there when you were born, and after your grandfather was killed, he took us to the Wall. He killed a White Walker to protect us. Which boys hurt you?”

“It’s been taken care of,” Ser Jaime says.

Given what she knows of him, this should probably worry her, but all she really feels is hope this means those horrible boys will never touch her son or tell him things they have no right to ever again.

“But that’s not what they said.” Sam frowns at her. “They said my grandfather did bad things with you, and that he’s- he’s the one who put me in your belly.”

She imagines herself beating these boys with a large stick.

Taking a deep breath, she replies, “If Papa could marry me and call you Sam Tarly, he would. Sometimes, when you and others aren’t around, we do things that could make another baby someday. I drink a special tea to try to make sure a little brother or sister for you doesn’t come during the war. When you get your own bed, Papa and me will still share one.”

“So, Grandpa didn’t put me in your belly?”

Damn those boys. She doesn’t want to fully lie to her son, but-

There’s a groan, and Ser Jaime is kneeling down. “Look at me, Sam Flowers.”

Little Sam does.

“You might have heard some already, but if not, someday, you’ll hear bad stories about me when you grow older, much like the ones you’ve heard about your grandfather. I had three children with a woman, and she told everyone that another man put them in her belly. I let her. I let this man think he was their father. Two of them never knew the truth. Unlike me, Samwell Tarly’s always been a good man, and from what I’ve heard of your mother, she’s an honest woman. If they both say that Samwell is your father, then, I’d advise you to listen to them, not snot-nosed little pissants who like picking on those smaller than them.”

A small smile crosses Sam’s face, and looking at her, he nods.

She can’t fully stop the sigh of relief from escaping.

“Your mother gathered these for you.”

They all turn to look at Bran.

Coming closer to the offered basket, Little Sam gasps, and a large smile breaks out across his face. “Thank you, Mama!”

He hugs her tightly, and pressing a kiss on his head, she mouths, “Thank you,” to Ser Jaime.

…

She’s reading when Sam comes in later during the night, and one look at him tells her something bad has happened.

Please, gods, let it be more problems with this horrible war and not that vile dragon queen killing his mother or sisters or anyone else with the name ‘Tarly’, she prays.

Going over to the bed, he looks down at Little Sam, and before she can explain the bruises, he softly says, “Bran told me what happened.” Sighing, he asks, “Was he alright?”

“Yes.” She comes over. “I washed his face and checked the rest of him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t there,” she points out.

“That’s sort of the point. It seems I’m never around. He’s getting too big for us to watch all the time, but-”

She slips her hand into his. “He’s fine, Sam.”

No, he’s never around much, but with the dead fast approaching- he’s always in meetings and doing other things to help prepare Winterfell. When he is, he usually only wants to sleep.

A clever, kind man with stupid ideas about risking his life, she couldn’t ask for a better father for Little Sam, but someday, her clever boy will realise yes, she was her father’s wife, and yes, his grandfather’s seed is responsible for him.

“I can see you thinking, Gilly,” Sam’s gentle voice breaks into her thoughts. “What is it? Did something else happen?”

“Let’s sit down.”

They do, and she tells him about what the boys said.

Sighing, he glances over at the bed. “We should talk about what we’re going to do after the war is over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve written to my mother, and she wants me to come home. But- my father was right. I was never meant to be Lord of Horn Hill. If I had to, to keep you and him safe, I would, but I haven’t kneeled to Daenerys and pledged anything. I’d really like it if I never had to.”

“We can go wherever you want,” she says. “Wherever you think would be best.”

She’d rather not go back to Horn Hill. It was beautiful, and she does like his mother and Talla, but it’s another place he tried to leave her and Little Sam. It’s where Randyll Tarly insulted them all at his dinner table.

A soft, shy smile crosses his face, and she leans forward.

“You know- with there being no more Wall, technically, it could be argued those who took the black are free. We could get married. In a godswood or with a septon, whatever you wanted. And if we left the seven kingdoms, who would ever know that Sam wasn’t my trueborn son? We could call him ‘Sam Tarly’ and be a little creative if anyone asked about our wedding. They wouldn’t need to know how many years after he was born that we did it. I mean, that is, if you wanted-”

All she can do is kiss him.

“I’d love to marry you, Sam. Where do you think might be a good place?”

“Bravos might be good. I wouldn’t want to live where slavery’s legal, and there are enough places that speak the Common tongue we could get by. I imagine Sam might be able to pick up another language quickly, though. In the Citadel, I learned that children often have an easier time learning multiple languages than adults do. And if Bravos ever decided to fight or bow to her, we could find a different free city.”

Seeing Little Sam is still sleeping soundly, she stands, and after Sam does, too, she grabs his chair.

“Gilly-”

Motioning for him to be quiet, she takes the chair to the closet, and once they’re inside, she gently closes the door.

It takes him a few seconds to respond when she kisses him, but soon, he is.

Pushing him down on the chair, she tugs her bottom smallclothes out from underneath her skirt, and soon enough, she’s on his lap with one of his hands on her back and the other between her legs.

Keeping her mouth close to his neck and shoulder, she concentrates on not making noise.

Hopefully, wherever they go, it’ll have more than one room.

A place to call home, somewhere near plenty of books, a bed she and Sam can use for more than sleeping, a safe room they can help their son decorate…

It ends, and hoping the noise she wasn’t fully able to keep in didn’t wake Little Sam, she kisses Sam.

“I love you, Gilly.”

“I know. And Little Sam and I love you, too. That’s why, when this war is over, you need to come back to us.”

“I’ll try,” he promises.

Easing off him, she opens the door enough to peer out, and seeing Little Sam’s still asleep, she motions for Sam to bring the chair back out.


End file.
